


take a trip to your dark side

by Hymn



Series: did a bad thing [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angry Kissing, Blow Job, Choking on dick, Coping mechanism, M/M, Mentions of PTSD, Mostly Canon Compliant, Not my usual fluff, POV Shiro (Voltron), Rough Sex, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, also lance is at least 18 or 19 in my headcanon at this point okay, argument, dirty talk kind of, i bet there's a better tag than that, lol, no safewords, not angst either tho, pls let me know if i forgot anything, season 5, shiro is having a tough time guys, sometimes you just have a shit fucking day guys, sort of angry sex but not really, sort of sub drop, surprise praise kink, they did not set up safe boundaries here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-27 08:12:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16698706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hymn/pseuds/Hymn
Summary: It's just one of those days, sometimes.----Shiro narrowed his eyes, leaning back. “Don’tpushme, Lance.”“Oh?” Lance raised his eyebrows mockingly. He stepped closer, put out one hand and poked Shiro in the chest with it, hard enough to be not only rude, butannoying, a deliberate physical taunt to go with the verbal. “And if I do, Shiro? What are you going to do? You want to have a bad day,fine. But then I’m going to treat you just like the rest of us, I’m going topush, and I’m going toneedle, and I’m going to tell you that you can’t just be adick‘cause you’re not feeling like --”





	take a trip to your dark side

**Author's Note:**

> set sort of nebulously in season 5, i kept telling myself that i was going to go and rewatch the season so i could get it good and properly canon-compliant but instead it's been sitting almost finished in my docs for four months and i finally decided fuck it, good enough. there's meant to be a prequel and also continuations, but i dunno if i'll ever get around to writing them. just know for the sake of this fic that shiro and lance sort of had a THING in the training rooms not that long ago and have been carefully avoiding talking or acknowledging it ever since.
> 
> eta; o shit - and a hundred thousand thank yous to [imagines](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagines/pseuds/imagines) and [onoheiwa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onoheiwa/pseuds/onoheiwa) for their encouragement on this, <3

The day was shit to begin with.

Shiro had woken uneasily from dreams hazy and surreal; half memory and violence combined with absurdity. A hot shower had rinsed away the sweat but hadn’t done much else for the fatigue or headache or the itchy restlessness that clamored in his bones. It was frustrating how it seemed _worse_ lately, the agitation and stupid, little innocuous things that triggered a foul mood or -- worse -- actual flashbacks that had him gritting his teeth and uncertain, crouched alone in a hallway or beside his bed trying to take cover.

And now, Allura and Lotor were running a mile a minute preparing for another meeting of the Voltron Coalition, looking happy as children playing their favorite game. With the Galra currently at each other’s throats with in-fighting, Voltron had little to do save step back and let them decimate their numbers. It was all politics, niceties, and formal wear.

“Can’t I do anything?” Shiro had asked that morning, eager to work, to escape the gritty tremble in his muscles that still lingered there; eager to outpace the headache throbbing at the base of his neck, his temples. “I mean -- it’s not like I don’t have experience commanding troops in battle. And,” he tried a weak chuckle, “I know politics isn’t quite warfare, but --”

“-- it’s worse,” Allura had responded, sounding thoughtful, a faraway gaze on her face. “I mean... It’s not _worse_ , but it’s more complicated, maybe. Because there’s no clear winner, and your only armor is a smile and words, and that’s your weapon, too, but -- it’s threats and treaties and laughing politely when all you really want is to _punch that stupid_ \--”

Lotor’s hand on Allura’s elbow had broken her from her rambling. Amused, the Galran Emperor said, “Leave it to those of us bred to it, I think. Though your offer of assistance is... appreciated.”

“...Is it?” Shiro had asked, tense. Uneasy at the glint in Lotor’s eyes, the accommodating tone. Yes, he had trusted this man with more than just the Black Bayard, but that didn’t mean he trusted him with everything. And to suddenly have him taking command, it --

It _itched_.

“Yes, it is,” Allura said, smiling brightly at him. “But Lotor is right. We have centuries of --”

“A few more than that,” Lotor had said, a bare murmur that made Allura’s smile turn intimate, more for Lotor than Shiro.

“-- experiences playing these types of games, Shiro. At this point, the best you can do to help is to wait with the other Paladins until it’s time to present you. I’m sorry that there isn’t anything else.”

What utter _shit_.

“That’s fine,” was all Shiro had said, and if his smile felt strained he thought he should at least have gotten points for trying at all. “Good luck, you two. And if -- if you need anything --”

“We’ll find you.”

But they hadn’t, of course, because Shiro _wasn’t_ needed. He didn’t need to pilot Black, or come up with a clever plan of action, or even design new training regiments. There hadn’t been much for Voltron to do in _weeks_ , and it wasn’t just Shiro who was starting to feel restless. But Shiro wasn’t meant to show that. He wasn’t meant to _act_ like he was going to go insane feeling useless and unhelpful.

He was supposed to be _okay_ with this.

And, mostly, he was. Shiro had never stopped hoping for this, longing for it. Shiro _wanted_ peace, and happiness, and for the fighting to end. He knew that, logically and in his heart of hearts, down deep. Everything he’d done and sacrificed was _for this_ , for him to no longer be needed, for Voltron to no longer be needed. That was _good_ , it was. 

But, some days, he...

He didn’t know, really.

Except that some days were just _shit_.

* * *

The day stretched on.

Coran gathered the Paladins together, clucking like a hen, and told them they wouldn’t even need their _armor_ that night. That their normal clothes would be fine -- “No one knows what Earth finery looks like,” he’d said, crisply, “so for all they’re aware you’re over dressed! So just be comfortable! Enjoy yourselves! And whatever you do, do not say 'excuse me’ to a Fra Jagli unless you _want_ to spend the next deca-phoeb being hunted all across the known galaxies!” -- and that they should stay out of trouble.

Out of trouble, like they were _children_. Like they couldn’t be trusted not to start an intergalactic incident. Like they weren’t fucking _Paladins of Voltron_ , defenders of the universe!

 _This is some bullshit_ , Shiro decided, coiled tight, headache pounding all the harder for the way he clenched his jaw to keep from saying it aloud.

He needed --

God, he needed to _relax_. Needed to -- to fight this out of his system, maybe. Push ups wouldn’t be enough. He needed hand to hand combat; needed to work himself into a lather and fight until his muscles turned to jelly, to --

( _he didn’t know where the switch between fight and fuck happened, but their legs were tangled, sweaty hands grasping, Shiro’s mouth on Lance’s bared neck as he bucked up into him, and in only their flight suits it was easy for him to feel the hard ridge of Lance’s erection against Shiro’s thigh, easy to rock into him and groan, hungry for it, and_ )

\-- shit fuck god _damn_ , but that was not what Shiro had meant to remember. He was trying not to remember that. But...

Yeah. Yeah, that would have been nice, too.

But it wasn’t going to happen again. It _wasn’t_. It had been a mistake the first time, and Shiro had managed -- just barely -- to get away before it became too dangerous, before they went too far. Wincing, his headache spiking with pain, Shiro near stomped along behind the rest of his team as they moved through the corridors, only half-listening to their complaints.

The other half was trying, desperately, not to remember how Lance had sounded, making those punched out little gasps of pleasure.

Fuck this day, seriously.

* * *

“This is _so boring_ ,” Pidge groaned, hunched over and leaning their head against the pristine shine of the rec room’s snack table. All of the Paladins were cloistered there -- a small room, tucked snug near the hangars and housing little more than semi-comfortable couches for a quick nap.

Shiro, seated in a lonely armchair, crossed his legs, covered half his face with his cybernetic hand, and grunted.

“But just think,” Lance began, voice already kicking up into that thready tone that was all self-indulgent bluster, and Shiro had to look in the opposite direction from them all, glaring at a wall. Even still, he could envision the way Lance had his feet propped up beside Pidge’s head, hands spread in the air gleefully. “ _Think_. About all of that food. Ughh, and the booze, guys, let’s not forget that, either, or all the _pretty girls_ that will be at this banquet!”

Shiro tried not to twitch.

“Ugh,” said Pidge. “Hard pass.”

Hunk made a thoughtful noise, and said, “Okay, ignoring all the other stuff, I am very interested in the food. Coran chased me out when the caterers arrived because he said I was _slowing things down_. I wasn’t slowing things down! ...Okay, maybe I was. Just a little. But c’mooooon, when else am I going to get a chance to grill these chefs for --”

“-- don’t forget the pretty girls, Hunk, c’mon, you gotta live a little --”

Fucking _shit_ fucking _day_.

“ _Stop_ ,” Shiro gritted out, “ _talking_.”

There was silence, tainted by surprise and unease.

“Jeez,” muttered Hunk, at the same time Pidge sat back and declared, “ _Someone’s_ in a grumpy mood.”

This time, Shiro did flinch.

“Dude,” said Lance, and -- fuck, but Shiro hated that gentle voice. Lance had siblings. Was he youngest? Shiro had always thought so, what with all the attention grabbing and theatrics, but maybe not. Not when it was so easy for him to pull out that sugary-smooth condescension, that voice that said he was trying to _manage_ Shiro.

Shiro sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose hard enough to hurt.

“ _What_ , Lance?”

“Yeaaah, okay, so can I see you outside, Shiro?”

...What a shit, _shit_ day. Shiro dropped his hand and slumped into the chair, rolling his head in an insolent way to pin Lance with a frown of distaste. Sure, he was acting like a snot-nosed teenager, but it was seriously a _shit shit shit_ day, and the pettiness of the act was giving Shiro some small, belligerent enjoyment. Honestly, he was going to take what he could get at this point.

“Shiro?” Lance asked, eyebrows arching.

“...No.”

Lance’s eyes widened, mouth dropping open in surprise.

And -- hell.

Shiro sighed, unable to help the way it came out angry, a harsh exhalation of frustration. He stood up, and said, “Sorry. That’s fine. C’mon.” Shame had squirmed in with the anger at Lance’s bewildered expression, reminding Shiro of who he _wanted_ to be, trustworthy and kind; which was an annoyance, also, because it didn’t make Shiro feel less like shit, less like punching through a wall just to try and eke out some of the tension.

He made it out of the room without yelling or destroying anything, at least.

* * *

Out in the hall Shiro stopped, hesitating before he turned around. He didn’t know what his face looked like right then but it probably wasn’t anything pleasant. The opposite, rather, was more than likely. And as much as he wanted to shove all this nastiness inside of him _out_ , out into the world where he didn’t have to _deal_ with it anymore, that wasn’t -- wasn’t _fair_.

Sighing, he turned on his heel. “Lance --”

“C’mon,” muttered Lance, voice low, head down. He shoved past Shiro, deliberately knocking into his shoulder with his own -- on Shiro’s left side, so that Shiro felt it all the way down like anyone might.

“Lance, wait -- where the hell are you going?”

Hands tucked into his pockets, Lance turned around and kept walking backwards, brows quirked up all jaunty and mocking. “Gonna go see some Lions about a bad mood, I think. You coming?”

“That’s stupid,” said Shiro, but he was having to raise his voice to be heard, now.

Lance made a scoffing noise and yelled back, “So are _you_ , Shirogane,” before turning down the hallway to the hangars. Growling under his breath, headache spiking once and then again, furious and throbbing, Shiro curled his fingers into fists and followed.

* * *

The walk did absolutely nothing for his temper.

In fact, it might have done the opposite -- Shiro fumed the whole way, frustrated and ashamed and angry that he _was_ ashamed at all. And with Lance just ahead, acting like this was no big deal, or like Shiro was someone he could just _give a talking to_ like he had a god damned _right_ , or like --

Shiro missed a step walking into the big hangar, the sound echoing tauntingly throughout.

“You okay there, bud?”

Glaring, Shiro stalked up to stand next to him, arms crossed over his chest and digging his fingers into his biceps hard enough to leave bruises under his cybernetic ones. “What are we doing here? Couldn’t we have done this out in the hall, or --”

He couldn’t bring himself to mention the training rooms.

How the last time Shiro and Lance had been alone together it had turned dirty and desperate, a thing Shiro had never expected, had never planned, and which he _deeply_ regretted. He did, and he hadn’t thought about it in the hall when he’d followed Lance, nor when he was stewing in his own aggression on the way to the hangars, but now, here, seeing all this empty space and only Lance in view, he had --

( _”Fuck, yes,” Lance panted, twisting a hand into Shiro’s hair, digging in his heels for better leverage. “Oh, my god. Oh, my god! I -- I want --”_ )

\-- realized how dangerous this was.

“Hmm,” hummed Lance, narrowing those blue eyes of his. He had his chin up, head tilted back at a cocky angle, shoulders relaxed. “I didn’t think you’d want anyone to see this. Or hear it. Or --”

“I’m not fucking you,” Shiro blurted.

Lance’s eyes went wide. “Uh... No,” he said, licking his lips once, a nervous habit. Shiro very firmly did not track the motion. “I wasn’t, uh. That wasn’t what I -- I just -- Holy crow, what the _hell_ , Shiro, you can’t just say that! Jesus, just -- C’mere, come into Blue with me, c’mon.”

“What -- I _just_ said --”

“Not for -- ! Oh, for crying out loud, Shirogane, would you just come _here_ ,” whined Lance.

If Lance wasn’t brilliantly red and looking distressed Shiro might have dug in his heels a little more. It was so easy to feel contrary right then, so easy to want to be a shit to everyone else when the day itself and everything in it had been such a shit to _him_. But he managed to tamp it down and just grunted, reluctantly following Lance into Blue’s cargo bay, the lion spacious but not nearly as big as Black.

Still, it _was_ private.

“ _There_ ,” said Lance, perching along the edge of a nearby crate. “I just thought maybe you wouldn’t want Pidge hacking into the feeds, is all. I was trying to give you a little privacy while you had your -- your little --” his hand was moving in a circular motion, either trying to encompass all of that which Shiro was at the moment, or trying to magically conjure words out of thin air.

Shiro kept his arms crossed, face still set in a glower, and waited.

“Jesus, Shiro, c’mon! _Work_ with me here --”

“What do you _want_ ,” Shiro snarled, frustrated. All at once the words were _there_ and refusing to remain unspoken, pumping through him as fast as his bloody, angry heart was pounding, wounded and violent with it. All he wanted in the world right then was to say, “I can’t just -- I can’t always _be okay_ , Lance! How is it that you -- that you, and Pidge, and Hunk, and _Keith_ get to have tantrums, or fuss, or just... Why can’t _I_ be annoyed and show it, huh? Why can’t _I_ have a bad _fucking_ day!”

Lance blinked.

“Well?” prodded Shiro, breathing hard. “Why the fuck _can’t_ I?”

For a moment, Lance just stared. Then his mouth dropped open a little and his brow creased, furrowing in consternation. “Wait -- seriously?” he asked. “You -- You’re just throwing a tantrum right now? I thought --”

“I’m --”

Lance raised his voice to speak over him. “I thought something was actually _wrong_ , Shiro, what the hell! You’re just in a pissy mood? Jesus, Pidge was right, you _did_ wake up on the wrong side of the bed.”

Again, Shiro said, “I’m --” as though he could defend himself, or argue, because he really didn’t like being told he was throwing a tantrum despite the fact that he had been the one to say it first -- and that was dumb and hypocritical and Shiro _didn’t_ care, but more than that he decided he didn’t care if he _was_ throwing a so-called tantrum and everyone knew it, so --

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I did.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Jeez. What, did space get too big and boring for you? The goo come out extra gelatinous or something? Don’t tell me you found another white hair!”

“Hey,” snapped Shiro. “Watch it, I’m not in the mood to --”

In an explosion of long limbs and flailing hands, Lance pushed up off the crate and got into Shiro’s face, snapping, “Not in the mood, Shiro? News flash! None of us are! Get over yourself, dude.”

Shiro narrowed his eyes, leaning back. “Don’t _push_ me, Lance.”

“Oh?” Lance raised his eyebrows mockingly. He stepped closer, put out one hand and poked Shiro in the chest with it, hard enough to be not only rude, but _annoying_ , a deliberate physical taunt to go with the verbal. “And if I do, Shiro? What are you going to do? You want to have a bad day, _fine_. But then I’m going to treat you just like the rest of us, I’m going to _push_ , and I’m going to _needle_ , and I’m going to tell you that you can’t just be a _dick_ ‘cause you’re not feeling like --”

Shiro surged forward, caught Lance’s shoulders in his hands and pulled him jerkily in against him. “Wha --” the word was stolen by Shiro’s mouth on Lance’s, lips pressed together tightly enough that it stung. Frustrated, Shiro exhaled a huff of air and leaned back just enough to lave his tongue across Lance’s upper lip.

“Hnn,” wheezed Lance, eyes almost comically wide. But Shiro was in no mood for humor. The irritation, the restlessness, it was riding him hard, and he wanted to exorcise it somehow, in some way, and Lance running his mouth off like that was too much a temptation to find a way to silence him, and --

Shiro forced himself to release Lance’s arms, pressing his fingers instead to his eyelids as he shut his eyes and shook his head. He paced backward, saying, “Sorry, sorry. I. I shouldn’t have --”

“...this is probably not healthy,” said Lance, still wide-eyed.

“No,” Shiro grit out, rocking his knuckles tighter until he saw sparks and supernovas in the dark. “I’m sorry. It --” his breath hitched, shame burning low in his gut, annoyance and still that fucking frustration under his skin, _itching_. “It won’t happen again.”

“...yeah, okay,” Lance agreed, “except...”

Shiro found the metal wall behind his back before he realized he’d kept on backing up. He stopped with a breath of surprise, hands falling away and blinking. Lance was staring at him with a flush bright on his cheeks, eyes still wide but glittering strangely, now. Shiro shifted, uncomfortable.

“...Except?”

“Hmm. I mean, well. It’s not like -- not like I’m going to say _no_ , Shiro. Surely you know that. We already... And you’re...”

“ _What_.”

Lance waved a hand at him, still looking incredulous. “You’re _you_ , dude, I’m not. Uh. I trust you? And I want --” He cut himself off with a click of his teeth, looking away suddenly with an expression of uncertainty.

This was a bad idea.

Shiro knew it was, had known it after that time in the training room and every moment after when he’d found the memory creeping in, pervasive. It wasn’t that he didn’t _want_ Lance like that -- it was that he knew he shouldn’t. That he knew how tragically something like that was likely to end for both of them.

This was _definitely_ a bad idea.

And it was exactly that reason that had Shiro tilting his head back against the cool metal wall, gaze going half-lidded, and asking in a low and not entirely familiar voice, “What do you _want_ , Lance?”

Because right now Shiro felt raw, and prickling, and _pissed_ , and he didn’t want to make the safe, proper choice. He didn’t want to do the _right_ thing. He wanted --

Lance gave him a narrow, sidelong gaze.

“I want to kiss you,” he said, his own voice strange -- subdued, maybe. Honest and without affectation. Shiro felt it jolt through him, and shivered. “That okay? Think I can --”

“Don’t _ask_ ,” Shiro whispered, flexing his hands against the wall, fingertips catching against a line of rivets. “I don’t want you to _ask_ right now, it -- _yes_ , just -- I’m --”

Lance hummed, gaze darting away again. He rocked back on his heels, once, then again, and then he grabbed the lapel of his jacket, knuckles pale with the tension of his grip, and stripped it off.

Shiro went still, watching. Waiting.

“I think I get it,” Lance said. “You’re too much right now, yeah? All energy without an outlet, you --”

“Stop,” Shiro pleaded. “Stop _talking_ , just --”

“Fine.” Like a whip crack, that word cut through the air and Shiro’s heart was racing, head still throbbing, and then Lance was coming towards him, long legs eating up the distance until he had Shiro caged up against the wall, up on his tip toes to be level, and his mouth was on his, _finally_ , it --

Lance knew how to kiss, apparently.

“Hngh,” Shiro managed, breath stuttering. Lance’s mouth moved against his, opening him up, and then his tongue licked inside, slick and hot, no hesitation. Exactly what Shiro needed. His knees went a little weak with relief, hands catching on Lance’s biceps. Pulling back, Lance ducked his head and nudged Shiro’s jaw up so he could fasten his mouth against Shiro’s pulse point, sucking hard.

“You -- _hmm_.”

Lance moved down his neck, dragging his teeth just _so_ against his skin to set his nerves tingling.

“You know what you’re doing,” Shiro gasped, and couldn’t help that it sounded surprised, like a question.

“Not everyone turns down my charms, you know,” Lance muttered, and nipped his skin before moving back up, taking Shiro’s mouth with his and -- _fuck_ , that -- that was good, that was --

Shiro’s hands scrabbled against him, slipped under his shirt sleeves so that he felt warm skin and hard muscle. Lance’s own hands were on Shiro’s shoulders, leaning his weight into him and keeping him pinned against the wall. And it was good, better than Shiro would have guessed, but it also wasn’t enough.

Pulling away with a gasp, Shiro said, “I want --” only to cut off with a shiver when Lance mouthed along his jaw, biting gently here and there and then tracing his tongue down over the apple of Shiro’s throat.

“Yes?” Lance asked, smug.

Shiro’s lip pulled back in half a sneer, caught somewhere between amused and annoyed. _Well_ , then. “I want to blow you.”

“You -- _whoa_ ,” Lance yelped, pulling back with a start.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never gotten a blow job before, Lance,” Shiro said, almost steadily. “What was that about your _charms_ , hm? Surely someone --”

“Don’t be a _dick_ ,” Lance warned, eyes narrowed.

“I won’t,” Shiro promised, heart racing, “if you let me suck _yours_.”

And it was -- wrong. So, so wrong. Like Lance had said, none of this was _healthy_. Shiro was in a shit mood, and he was making choices that he _shouldn’t_ , saying things he wouldn’t normally ever want to say except that the pressure in his head and the itch under his skin and the fucking -- _fucking_ \-- bullshit circumstance where apparently he wasn’t good enough for _politics_ , couldn’t do anything at all, was just -- too much, and it --

It felt good, here, to step past his limits.

To push, and push, and _push_ until someone pushed _back_.

“Well,” Lance said, drawing the word out slowly as though to buy himself extra time. He licked his lips, nervously; his fingers flexed unthinkingly against Shiro’s shoulders, kneading. “I -- I guess --”

Shiro forced himself to say, “You can say _no_ , Lance.”

“Like hell,” Lance said, and Shiro saw the snap of decision in his eyes, the clarity in the dark blue that made his gaze steady and settle, determined. “Who’s gonna pass up a blowjob, huh? Not this guy, nope. You can -- yeah, go right on and, uh, s-suck my... dick.”

Shiro grinned, half a challenge. “That so?”

“Yeeeep,” Lance murmured, and his hands were still again, and he was leaning forward toward Shiro like he couldn’t help himself, gaze faltering down to Shiro’s mouth like he was imagining it already. Shiro shivered, his own penis stirring with blood at the thought. It had... been a long time since Shiro had last done this, but he was _definitely_ looking forward to it.

“Good.”

Moving quickly, Shiro exchanged their positions and dropped to his knees. Lance made a broken noise, long and dawn out and a little out of breath as Shiro’s fingers shoved his shirt out of the way, plucking at the button of his jeans, the zipper. While he worked, he mouthed hot, sucking kisses against Lance’s hipbones and the flat planes of his lower abdomen; tried to leave marks alongside the coarse trail of dark brown hair there.

“I -- holy _crow_ , Shiro, you -- that --”

Shiro hummed, and slipped his hand inside Lance’s boxers, drawing him out.

“ _Oh!_ ”

“Huh,” said Shiro, pulling back enough to eye Lance.

He’d only felt the impression of it before, there and then gone as soon as Shiro had gotten his senses back on the training room floor, rolling away and upright with stammered apologies. But now Lance was exposed, and the erection in his left hand was more than a mouthful, heavy and hot and hard, and Shiro felt need pull tight in his belly, heat racing along his spine and tugging down between his legs. Arousal a steady pulse, now, competing with the background nuisance of his headache.

“Huh? _Huh?_ The hell, Shiro, don’t say _huh_ when you’ve got your hand on my --”

Smirking, Shiro traced his thumb across the flared head, smearing the first drop of pre-come. Lance made a garbled sound. “Don’t worry,” Shiro breathed, and pressed his lips in a tight circle against the head, giving little kitten licks across the slit even as he mouthed at him sloppily. Lance whined, and Shiro pulled back enough to say, “I like it. Feel free to pull my hair, okay?” and then he took Lance into his mouth and _sucked_.

With a yelp Lance’s hips bucked. Shiro had only taken the first two inches or so, and the motion rocked Lance fully within, stretching Shiro’s jaw and making him groan. He liked it -- the heavy, hot feel of Lance’s need against his tongue, the way his hands had flown to the back of Shiro’s head and gripped him there, one at the crown and the other at the nape of his neck.

“ _Ahhh_ ah god, Shiro! Sorry! You --”

Shiro breathed in through his nose, and traced his tongue against the underside of Lance’s erection, working himself down a little more. The sharp scent of sweat and arousal hit him, and Shiro closed his eyes when Lance’s hips shifted again, needy and impolite.

Good, that was _good_. Now just -- a little _more_.

With his free hand, Shiro pressed metal fingers into the small of Lance’s back, knuckles grating against the wall. Pressed him in, deeper, and Shiro breathed in sharply through his nose again to feel the head of Lance’s cock hit the back of his throat, a little _thud_ that made him startle, skin tightening, gag reflex almost kicking in. Saliva pooled in his mouth, under his tongue, and Shiro twisted his flesh hand around the base of Lance’s erection, thumb pressing tight, and pulled back with an obscene slurp.

Right before he popped off, Lance’s fingers tightened, holding him in place.

“Ah,” Lance gasped. “Ah, _hnn_ , where do -- do you think you’re going, huh?”

Shiro was moaning before Lance had even pulled him back onto his dick, fingers tangled in Shiro’s hair, wrapping the longer strands around his knuckles so that it pulled and tugged electric against his scalp. The other hand was a vise about the back of his neck, holding him.

“You look -- _haa_ \-- so pretty like this, Shiro. You -- _shit_ , yes -- you like this?”

Shiro couldn’t say yes. He couldn’t say anything, because Lance had him in in his grip and was easing him back and forth along the hard length of his erection, not giving him a chance. He tried to nod -- just a little, frantic up and down motion as his eyes squeezed tight and he garbled another moan, tongue slipping against that heavy heat, eager.

Pulling his hands free, Shiro scrabbled at his own pants.

“Yeah, yeah you _do_ , don’t you? Like having your mouth full, huh? Like -- mm, like me f-fucking your mouth, _making_ you take it, you --”

Shiro pursed his lips as best he could, and _sucked_ in revenge, even as a hot flush lit him up, prickling down his chest. It made Lance’s hand tangled in his hair pull tight, and Shiro gasped, shuddering, the pain-pleasure melting tension, blotting out his frustrations, riding him hard and fast and _sweet_ and --

“Oh, oh, _oh_ , you --”

Whining, Shiro got a hand on his own erection. It was _throbbing_ , and the cool touch of a metal palm against the head of his cock nearly made him sob with relief, his human fingers wrapping loosely about his shaft and stroking. Not wanting to come too soon, but _wanting_.

“That is, that’s --” it figured, Shiro thought dimly, that Lance wouldn’t stop talking even during sex, “-- so good, so, oh, I’m -- _Shiro_.”

The sound of his name in _that_ tone -- airless, trembling, half-desperate -- shivered through him, warm and hungry. Tears were pricking the corner of his eyes, and it was so _good_ , just being here, his knees already a little sore from the hard floor, his jaw aching, breath whistling, and it was too much and not enough and _just right_ , this feeling of letting go of control, of being _used_.

“I --” Lance’s voice was a wreck, broken down into roughness, slurring a little, “I’m gonna --”

Come _on_ , then, Shiro thought, tightening his grip around his own erection and making a needy little noise of encouragement to mix in with the obscene, wet sounds they were already making. The hand at the back of Shiro’s neck tightened, and he shivered, overheated and frantic. Lance’s hips jerked just as he pulled Shiro forward, and he fucked deeper into Shiro’s mouth than he had before, crying out.

Shiro grunted, shifting, vision going hazy and almost gagging as Lance hit the back of his throat again and _again_ , and fuck, _fuck_ , that --

His orgasm hit him out of nowhere, or almost. Flooded through him hot and bright and left him gasping, muscles locking up tight as he came into his palm.

“Oh,” Lance wheezed. “You -- that --”

Shiro reached up a clumsy arm to press against Lance’s hip, pushing him back. With a whine, Lance let him -- leaned back against the wall, his fingers no looser but no longer trying to control Shiro’s movements. Shiro came off of him with a wet pop, turning his head and coughing a little.

“Sorry,” whispered Lance, sounding sheepish and worried.

“No,” Shiro managed, voice rough. His throat hurt, a little, and he worked his jaw until he managed to smile. “No, that was -- good. That was perfect.”

“Hn. Cool. Very cool, so awesome. Uh. Are you --”

Laughing, Shiro bent forward and let his lips brush slickly against the head of Lance’s cock. Lance stopped breathing, holding still. His hand in Shiro’s hair very nearly petting him, and the fingers at his neck flexing gently. Flicking his tongue, Shiro teased him, pressing closer. Kept his arm on Lance’s hips and pressed him tighter against the wall when they stuttered, trying to sink deeper into the wet heat of Shiro’s mouth.

With the itch under his skin scratched, Shiro felt damned near _luxurious_.

He took his time, swirling his tongue in a way that had Lance shuddering. Brought his left hand back up to squeeze the base of his erection, rubbing his thumb along the big vein, the motion slick with saliva. Lance’s breath was coming in short, sharp little exhalations. It wouldn’t take much, not when Lance had been so close only a moment before. Shiro sucked hard just beneath the ridge and was pleased when Lance cried out, sounding shaken.

“Are you trying to -- ha _aaah_ \-- give my dick a -- a hickey?”

Shiro laughed, hand squeezing reflexively, and said, “Want me to give it a try?”

“Uhh,” said Lance, and Shiro tipped his head back to grin at him, knowing he probably looked a mess. But if he did, then so did Lance. Lips bitten red and face flushed ruddy, eyes bright and gleaming and wild, chest rising fast with his unsteady breathing.

Before he could catch it, Shiro said, “You look beautiful,” and blinked when Lance’s dick twitched. Thoughtful, Shiro let the head rest against his bottom lip, and murmured, “ _Gorgeous_ , Lance, absolutely --”

“Mother _fuck_ ,” Lance hissed, slamming his eyes closed and arching his hips and _coming_. Startled, Shiro jerked back, then forward, opening his mouth to suck Lance down and let him fill him up. His heart was thundering in his chest, startled, and he felt prickly and light, pleased and curious, because --

Huh.

Hadn’t actually expected _that_ to happen.

“Oh, oh my god,” Lance breathed when he finished, raising his hands to cover his face in embarrassment. “I don’t -- I didn’t, uh.”

Shiro swallowed, trying not to grimace obviously as he did so. “Yeah, because I’m about to judge you for anything,” he said, voice dry but _pointed_. He watched that hit Lance, the way it made him tense, and then relax. He rubbed his face with his hands again, and Shiro tried not to shiver remembering the way they’d felt, big and hot and perfect against him. With a groan, he got to his feet, staggering just a little at the ache in his knees.

“...You all right?”

Shiro glanced at Lance, hesitant. Lance looked back, equally hesitant.

“Yeah,” Shiro said, careful. “Yeah, I’m. I’m all right. Are you?”

“Mm.” Lance’s gaze skittered around the cargo hold, and he rubbed his mouth with his fingertips, thinking. Shiro tensed, and took a step back, away.

“Sorry,” Shiro rasped, and cleared his throat. His cheeks -- which were already flushed -- flamed anew with shame. His stomach was a heavy thing, lurching. Shit, _shit_ , what had he done? His post-coital lassitude started to fade, tension building in the muscles along his spine. “I’m _sorry_. I shouldn’t -- I never should have asked you --”

“Hey, whoa!”

Shiro shook his head, brows furrowing, staring at the floor between them, where he had been kneeling only moments before.

“ _Shiro_. I wanted that as much as you did. I couldn’ve said no. You _told_ me I could say no, remember? I’m -- I’m fine, okay? Or I will be. And I don’t -- I don’t regret anything, all right? I’m just... I’m glad if that helped. If --”

“It’s not going to happen again,” Shiro said, firm.

“Sure,” Lance said, crossing his arms and giving Shiro a narrow-eyed look. “Sure, sure. If you say so.” Shiro opened his mouth to say I do only for Lance to keep going, “But if it _does_ happen again, I’m uh, okay with that. Just... for the record. You need to unwind, you let me know.”

Another denial was on the tip of Shiro’s tongue, waiting to be let loose. But he -- he swallowed it down. Because he could tell that Lance would argue about this and Shiro honestly didn’t have the strength just then to put in a fight. He just --

He wanted a shower, a moment to himself. 

A chance to try and convince himself that he wasn’t a horrible person, that this really wasn’t going to happen again, and that they’d be okay. That he hadn’t just ruined the team dynamic, or --

He swallowed hard. “Okay,” he said.

* * *

Later, mingling amongst the throngs of aliens, Shiro could still feel that ache in his jaw and the heavy weight of... shame, maybe, or dread. That lingering tension of having done something wrong, something that would come back and hurt him, somehow. The shower hadn’t washed him clean, apparently, and Shiro felt dumb and awful and a little angry, but --

But, strangely, it was also enough to keep him grounded. 

Because despite the fearful voice in the back of his head telling him how badly he’d just fucked up, there was a whole lot of Shiro that just felt -- _good_. A weightlessness in his limbs, an ease in how his skin fit; the way he felt loose and warm and _calm_ , like the mess of bad decisions that had taken place was -- was more than just --

He didn’t realize he was seeking Lance out until his eyed snagged, caught, and held on a spot across the room. The Blue Paladin was winking at the Prime Minister of Valogdish, oozing his special brand of over-the-top charm.

Lance looked ridiculous, and -- and beautiful; bright, lively, unstoppable.

Swallowing hard, Shiro felt his heart squeeze tight and hot, and Shiro all at once recalled with a visceral jolt the feel of Lance’s hands -- broad and warm and _firm_ \-- against his head, in his hair, and felt for a moment very nearly _dizzy_ with the remembered relief.

And that -- that wasn’t good, probably, that reaction. Because it had been hard enough for Shiro to _not think about_ that time in the training room. Now that they had -- had gone so far -- had actually _fucked_ \-- Shiro didn’t know how he was going to keep from falling in again, from sinking right on into that need and longing and the safety of Lance’s embrace --

His breath hitched, all tangled up with longing and wistfulness, that dread the only thing keeping him from doing something irreparably damaging, probably.

Shit _fuck_ , but Shiro had managed to get himself into trouble, hadn’t he?

As though the universe was proving exactly _how_ fucked, Lance suddenly noticed him. Trailed off mid-sentence and stared back at him. From this distance his blue eyes looked nearly black, heavy-lidded and so still, so piercing. Shiro swallowed, suddenly nervous, wanting to look away but unable, somehow.

But then Lance grinned at him, warm and big and bright. And if it looked about as helpless and lost and hopeful as Shiro was feeling, well, at least that made two of them, then. Shiro ducked his head before he could grin back; it probably would have been embarrassing, and Shiro had said _never again_ , and he had meant it. 

He couldn’t risk it, couldn’t risk them, the team and his and Lance’s relationship, he _couldn’t_.

But at least for now -- for this very little while -- Shiro could just… breathe. 

And if he spent the whole night shadowing Lance at a distance, keeping him always at the edge of his sight, close enough to hear the raucous noise of his laughter, then that was Shiro’s shameful secret. He thought that he could at least forgive himself this one last weakness, this one last bad decision, just for tonight, just to finish getting through this _shit_ day already.

Shiro could be a better person tomorrow.


End file.
